Webbed feet not so bad after all

THE FRIDAY THING: THERE might well be lots of reasons why you are glad you are not Scottish.

There’s the webbed feet for coping with 364 days of rain, wearing the kilt (draughty round the Cairngorms), tossing the caber (steady on there, lads) and the wail of the bagpipes. Oh, and neeps, tatties and haggis.

On the other hand there’s the whisky, the glorious scenery with mile after mile of open road with not a car to be seen, a government that does not include either David Cameron or Nick Clegg, some of the finest beef, venison and seafood in the world, Hogmanay and lots of excuses to party.

And then there is the small matter of a few wee fiscal issues. Och aye!

For instance, there are no university fees charged in Scotland. Getting clever so that you can contribute more to the nation does not carry with it a tax burden like the one imposed on the future leaders, thinkers and clever-doers in England. And just to rub salt into that particular open wound, Scottish students who cross the border to be educated in English universities do not have to pay the fees which you, if you are the parent of English student, might just think is a tad unfair.

But there’s more. Now the Scots are to have free prescriptions, too. The Scots, along with the Welsh and the residents of Northern Ireland will not have to take out a second mortgage to pay for their medicines if they are wantonly reckless enough to actually fall ill.

We English folk have to pay £7.20 for every item on our badly-scribbled prescriptions while our neighbours can be ill for free.

Will any of the prescription fees paid in England be used to subsidise the free prescriptions in Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales? Well, yes, in all probability they will.

The spirit of Robert The Bruce and his kin will no doubt see all these concessions as further fruits of the 1314 rout of the English at Bannockburn while south of the border we are left wondering why a smaller country with fewer people can afford to fund such a favoured lifestyle.

And we must not forget that it was a local MP Joel Barnett, who represented Royton and was Labour’s chief secretary to the Treasury in 1978, who drew up a plan that gave Scottish folk £1,644 a year more each than their poor relations in England to spend on public services.

In the end friends in high places won more for Scotland than the pike and the claymore.

Maybe the webbed feet and the kilt don’t look so bad after all.

WHILE the rest of the country are weighed down with the worry of pay cuts, redundancies and Eric Pickles (Eric the Fat) Saddleworth folk are up in arms at the possible loss of their running track in Churchill playing fields or (Saddleworth paddy field as it is known locally).
The running track, like the rest of the playing fields, is under water for large parts of the year, thanks to major drainage problems.

The parish council in its infinite (or finite, depending upon your point of view) wisdom wants to get rid of the running track and, instead, paint a track on the grass for the summer months and add more football pitches which will, of course, bring in revenue to help pay for the extension to the civic hall.

There is a sense that they have missed a trick here. Instead of playing King Canute and trying to beat back the water, why don’t they turn the area into Saddleworth lido, complete with refreshment bar and tables with parasols in summer and umbrellas for the other 50 weeks.

Saddleworth runners could be Saddleworth swimmers and some of the area could be used for the new allotments, growing rice or water lilies.

There could be turns from musicians, tap dancers and comedians (Ken Hulme might be available) and the whole area would be far better used than it is now.

However, I am sure that we can leave it to the good sense of the parish council to do what’s right as they have with the civic hall.




FINAL WORD: WHY shouldn’t women drivers pay the same insurance as their male counterparts?
Since when has gender been an issue on pricing? And aren’t there just as many women as men driving with one hand while talking on the phone to their chums and failing to let the rest of us know whether they are turning right, left or going straight on? Time to pay up, ladies.